


our monster, our mistakes made

by Anonymous



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Choking, Cousin Incest, Erik Killmonger/Stevens small redemption arc, Fix-It, Hand Jobs, I guess???, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post Movie, Scar Worship, Spoilers, Throne Sex, also okoye you're great and you need your own movie, bisexual t'challa needs to be a tag jeez, consensual breath play, first time[s] sort of, im in this trash heap sorry, in b4 10 million fix it fics, in the summary my dudes, like a lot, nakia who is such a sweet badass i adore you, other minor mentions include, safe sex, shuri whom i love light of my life, t'challa is king of the bisexuals, w'kabi hey i mean if you don't make up with your girl i'm single
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "I don’t want to live the rest of my life in your prison."So he chooses death instead. Death, as a free man.T’Challa inhales deeply, and prays for strength."You have my word, you will have a fair trial."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [我们创造的怪物，我们所犯下的错误/our monster, our mistakes made](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101995) by [LiKan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiKan/pseuds/LiKan)



> hi i just saw the movie and have feelings and things and like that post on tumblr said,  
> man just marry t'challa and you got the throne fam!!!!!  
> literally thats where this pwp is leading ok???  
> thanks for coming to my ted talk ok bye
> 
> P.s. barely edited and unbetaed, all issues and inconsistencies my own.

"You don’t have to die." T’Challa stands there, not unwilling to kneel beside his cousin, but certain it is not what the man wants.

"I don’t want to live the rest of my life in your prison." So he chooses death instead. Death, as a free man. T’Challa inhales deeply, and prays for strength. "You have my word, you will have a fair trial."

He doesn’t tell Erik that he already knows, he will be serving as a character witness.

But instead he tries again, he pleads with his eyes.

_'Let me save you. Let me make amends, where my father cannot. Please, cousin.’_

Erik reaches for the spear, and then drops his hand, fingers scrabbling in the dirt.

“I can feel blood in my lungs. If you save me from this, I’ll be in your debt… forever.”

 

Shuri’s tech saves Erik, because it never fails. The cabinet meets, takes three days to deliberate, and decides that they find Erik guilty of treason, and his fate is up to the king, though of course, they strongly suggest banishment. T’Challa has found himself betrayed by one friend already, and he will not lose anymore family, not to this strife, this, infighting and turmoil.

“I proclaim Erik Stevens, born N'Jadaka, cousin mine, shall be free to go. On one condition. He will never threaten the throne again, or any of the royal family, _because_ he is family. We do not turn our backs on one another. This is our second chance. Let us make the most of it.”

T’Challa gets up and leaves before he must hear any further arguments. He knows what they are. He knows they are weighted, and they have good points. But this, this is not who he wants to be. He will not start his reign by killing a man who is of royal blood and who did not have a fair chance at life. His true life was stolen from him, and he was left alone in the world.

T’Challa meant what he told his father, the second time he ascended.

 _They_ created Erik, accidentally or not. Now they can _remake_ him.

He follows T’Challa out of the council chambers, and he doesn’t even have to look, to check to see that he won’t be stabbed in the back, he knows.

“Why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”

“You would have argued against it. You would have refused me as your witness. Your defense was nonexistent. Mercy is all that I could offer.”

Erik snorts, and T’Challa knows he’s shaking his head where he stands. “I tried to kill you. Three times.”

“I only count twice.” He remarks, and finally glances over, catching the hint of of a smile on his cousin's face.

“Yeah, yeah okay. So now what? Am I gonna serve as one of your palace guards? Work with your people in Tech?”

T’Challa shakes his head,

“I do not think Shuri will want you going anywhere near her lab. You still owe her an apology. You will accompany me. Keep silent unless I call upon you. I have someone I think you should meet. A former assassin. He is now on the other side of history.”

Erik starts being quiet then and there, just nodding when T’Challa eyes him. “Very well.”

They take a shuttle to the remote corner where Shuri has relocated Sergeant Barnes, and he smiles at the children who huddle around the huts which they land beside.

“Tell me you haven’t been keeping him from sleeping too much now?”

“No, not at all your highness.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” T’Challa smiles at the smallest one who runs off with a grin, and Erik follows close behind him, hissing out, “What’s going on here?”

“Your highness?” Barnes’ voice echoes around the glen, and T’Challa looks over to see the long haired man stepping out from behind a hut, swathed in scarlet and white fabric, highlighting his tanned skin.

He’s gotten better from leaving the ice chamber, waking from the medical coma, and learning to get around with only one arm. T’Challa raises a hand in greeting, and reaches back with his other to guide Erik forward. He only struggles a little bit.

“This is the man I was telling you about. Sergeant Barnes, please meet-”

“Just Bucky, it’s just Bucky.”

Erik quirks a brow at the man interrupting a king, but T’Challa just grins. “Very well, ‘just Bucky.’ This is my cousin, Erik. I think you’ll find you two have a lot in common.”

“Former spy, mercenary?” Erik asks, holding out a hand, as Bucky takes it, and shakes firmly. “Something like that.” The american says, and smiles, just a little. T’Challa doesn’t bother filling Erik in, he turns and leaves the two of them to their chat. He could use a little time to meditate on things.

 

When they leave to return to the palace, T’Challa is faced with a conundrum.

Where exactly to house Erik. To let him sleep in the same wing as his mother and sister seems a foolish plan. There is plenty of space in his side of the king’s tower, so there’s no need to force him out into the guard’s quarters, not to mention he doesn’t trust Okoye not to try stabbing him in his sleep.

“So uh, what’s the rooming situation here?” Erik’s voice breaks into his thoughts, and T’Challa clears his throat.

“Well, you can always take the guest room. It’s associated with mine. It’s where my queen would sleep. If I were to have one. Obviously I don’t… right now.”

He hears a barely stifled snort, and Erik nods then, licking his lips and rolling his shoulders back.

“I got you, I got you. So it’s for that tall drink of water, what’s her name, Nakia? She’s something else.”

T’Challa exhales,

“No. She’s my ex. We’re not- _She’s_ not interested in staying here, ruling with me. She deserves better.”

Erik quirks a brow, “Better than being your queen? Hell. I can’t really imagine better.”

T’Challa blinks at him, and Erik continues. “For her to look forward to that is.”

“She is still serving her king, and the country, by doing her duty elsewhere.”

“Yeah well, whatever you say cousin. So this is me, right here? We’re sharing a bathroom?”

T’Challa inhales, “Yes, is that a problem?”

Erik grins, “Nah, you’ve already seen me shirtless after all, what’s a little more right?”

T’Challa hears his chuckle through the walls, and he can guess that the man’s going to shower before bed, so he gives him some space and goes over to his desk, turning on his computer, checking in on a few things. There’s emails from Fury, from Rogers, and even one from Stark industries.

He ignores that one, and then marks it as read, starring it to read for real later. By the time the water shuts off and the door slams, telling him Erik’s gone off to bed, he then goes to the bathroom and ignores the clouds of steam, splashing cold water on his face, and brushing his teeth before switching off the light.

He changes from the ornamental robes and tunic into a simple pair of sleep pants, and tucks his shoes under his desk before climbing into bed. He clicks his fingers to douse all the lights, and only the silvery glow of the moon illuminates the ceiling, along with a slight blue haze from his sleeping computer. He sighs, and turns to the side. Sleep is a long time coming for him that night.

 

It goes this way for a week, then two.

He takes Nakia and Okoye to the U.N. to give his promised speech about helping the world, and returns home feeling as if it’s a step in the right direction. One of many. He gets more emails from both Stark Industries and Rogers, so much that he finds himself smiling as he gives in, and answers both of them.

“What’s so funny?” Erik’s voice echoes through the room, and T’Challa looks over to see the man watching, arms folded, leaning against his door frame.

“Just some correspondence with a friend. American allies. How was your weekend? Did you talk to Shuri yet?”

“Maybe. I don’t know if apologizing is really… enough? She’s still not my biggest fan. Which is fine. I did almost push her off a ledge. Then again, I _threw_ you over the falls and yet here we are.”

Erik’s studying his nails, but advancing into the room, and T’Challa notices then that the man’s shirtless. It’s surprising how distracting it is, considering that he’s seen both Barnes and W’Kabi in such a manner at different times. Of course, neither of them have the marks of all their kills, and T’Challa suspects Barnes hasn’t even killed as many men that cover Erik’s right arm.

“What? Am I too hideous for you to look at, cousin?”

It’s like a hiss, the strike of a snake, instantly snapping T’Challa back to awareness. He wishes Erik would stop calling him that. Not because he only wants to be addressed as ‘king,’ but something about it just feels… off still.

T’Challa firmly shuts his laptop and turns away from it, staring pointedly at Erik’s left shoulder, then dragging his gaze down across his chest, where the faintest pink line of the stab wound is scarred.

“Not at all. So much death though, it does make me wonder why. Why you felt the need to immortalize your own brutality in such a way.”

Erik shrugs, rolling muscled shoulders and stepping forward again, though drifting slightly to the side, moving over to consider T’Challa’s bedside table, stacked with books, and tools.

“I did it at the time because it felt right. As respectful as I could be, I guess. I didn’t know them. They weren’t former friends, turned enemies. They were just targets. Assignments.”

“So you kept them separated, then brought them back. Your own sort of atonement.” T’Challa guesses. Erik snorts, “Not exactly. I’m not filled with guilt for that. I’m also not ashamed. I did my job. They just stood in the way.”

“Don’t talk like that. Human life is not so easily dismissed.” T’Challa doesn’t mean to correct, to argue, but this is not a debate and he is not willing to lose. Erik’s gaze snaps over to him, and his head tilts, exposing the only bare part of him, free from scars, his neck. At least, that much of him above his waist. Somehow, T’Challa doubts the man’s marked himself up from the groin down.

That would be foolish, extremely painful and certainly throw the numbers of deaths high enough to make him regret giving his cousin a second chance. “Care to check for yourself?” Erik says quietly, almost an afterthought, and T’Challa inhales suddenly. Did he say that last thing out loud?

“Your poker face is terrible. I can already guess what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t brand my dick. See?”

T’Challa’s eyes dip down for a split second before he lifts them to settle firmly on Erik’s own, even as the man’s thumbs casually hook in the waistband of his sweatpants.  He’s grinning. “Gotcha.”

“You’re a terrible menace.” T’Challa says, almost under his breath, but Erik doesn’t seem insulted, in fact, he’s taking a seat on the bed, stretching out, acting like some great jungle cat, only missing claws to knead in the blankets and a purr might leave his throat, if he imagines hard enough.

He really should stop this right now.

“So this is how a king sleeps, huh? Not bad, not bad. Don’t suppose we could swap for one night cousin?”

“Stop calling me that. It’s T’Challa in here, your highness out there. Or _my king_ , if you prefer.”

He manages a tight smile, even as something dangerously close to warmth rises in his cheeks.

Erik hums, and seems to think it over, rolling onto his stomach, and then actively jerking up, getting on all fours to crawl to the edge of the bed, perched on the corner, staring over at T’Challa’s bathroom door. “All these nights, all this time, you know, I could have killed you. All that separated us was that flimsy piece of wood.”

Wood laced with vibranium, T’Challa corrects in his head, remaining silent. He can’t seem to glance away from the lush curve of Erik’s ass, and he wants to slap himself. What is wrong with him?

“I trust you to make the right decision after I spoke in your favor, I suppose.”

Erik smoothly shifts back and down onto his feet, walking fluidly over to where T’Challa is standing, somewhat frozen, reaching for his shoulder. His hand doesn’t dig in painfully to his skin, but he’s yanked forward, thrown off balance, and he puts both of his own hands flat to Erik’s chest to keep from crashing into him. In the midst of this chaos, their faces stop barely inches apart, and T’Challa can taste something dark, earthy and smokey on Erik’s breath. Before he can exclaim about the threat, the rudeness of such an act of aggression, he’s rendered speechless by their proximity.

“Ever wondered what it would be like?” He’s asking, and T’Challa can’t think straight, he’s dizzy, lost in the endless warm brown of Erik’s eyes. “What?”

“This.” The tail end of one of Erik’s smirks melts away as he leans in, closing the gap, and presses his mouth right onto T’Challa’s, without a hint of preamble or muttered threats, no, it’s just a kiss.

A kiss between rivals, cousins, and something that T’Challa’s accidentally been dreaming about for a couple days, or nights, rather.

“Fuck. You taste so damn good, sweet even. What the hell do you use for your mouthwash, _my king_?”

A sliver of warmth darts down T’Challa’s spine at the address, and he swallows the growling insult he’d been trying desperately to formulate in favor of a properly placed shove that sends Erik sprawling backwards onto his bed. The man just lays there, panting, glaring up at him with heat in his eyes that’s far from anger, and a lot more like lust.

“You gonna stand there watching me all night or get down here and fuck me?”

T’Challa’s throat vibrates with a groan, tempting as the thought is to just observe, and instead he goes, caging Erik in with his arms as he brings their faces together again for another kiss, a bit harsher, biting and rough, with a wet swipe of a tongue urging the other man’s lips to part.

Now he can taste Erik’s vices, cigars, and something tart that could be liquor. T’Challa isn’t sure where he got it, but he’s not planning to think too long, not when Erik rocks up against his thigh and he can feel how hard he is. He answers with a thrust and grind down, feeling his own cock jump in his pants.

“This isn’t going to go the way you think, _Erik_.” He grunts out, and the other man smiles against his mouth, before turning his head, and nipping at the skin under his ear.

“Oh yeah? I think I know you pretty well, cousin. You got anything useful in that drawer over there?”

He’s being utterly obscene right now, bringing up the concept of lube when T’Challa’s barely wrapping his head around the mere idea of sex, considering how many long months he’s been since he and Nakia broke up. He’s debating trying to reach over and past Erik to yank the specific handle, when there’s a hand sliding between his own legs, palming over his crotch, distracting him as white sparks across his field of vision. “Fuck.”

“Oh shit, I made the king swear. Is there a jar around here that I could make you add to?”

Erik says, his tone more teasing than mocking, and T’Challa sighs heavily, ducking his head down to peck a kiss on the sharp line of the man’s jaw. “Yes, so you did. No, there is not. Don’t tell Shuri, she’ll think it’s an excellent idea to make one.”

Erik grins, “Finally, a way to get on her good side.”

T’Challa eventually moves away from being draped over Erik’s body and shucks off his tunic, before then releasing the man from being trapped under his legs, grabbing the small tube from his bedside drawer, turning to see the other man shoving his pants down his hips. “What? I’m helping.”

“That’s not why I’m staring.” T’Challa finally says, taking in the sight of Erik fully naked.

It’s making his blood heat from so much bare skin, more than he ever expected from seeing another _man_ naked, but not surprising of course. The only difference between them, and the only thing that is plainly marked below Erik’s waist is not from combat kills or war of any kind. It’s his cock.

A faint ring of a scar encircles an inch or so back from the head, which is flushed and weeping, with no hood to be pulled or stroked back.

“You’re-” He breaks off, and Erik touches himself, almost absentmindedly, before stopping, pressing his hand flat over his stomach, his cock twitches in its absence, and T’Challa’s mouth suddenly waters. “What? Cut? Yeah. It’s pretty common in the states. It’s all I’ve ever known. Kinda sucks, I guess when it comes to like… some things. But girls love it.”

T’Challa grins finally, “Well then, I guess you can uh, be my first of many things.”

Erik blinks. “Get your pants off c’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He obeys, even as he tries to ignore the fact that he’s following an order of a man who wishes _he_ still had the throne, and then settles between Erik’s parted legs, eyeing his face and then his cock, before touching him finally.

His hand curls around the heat of the other man’s cock, trying to move as he might for himself, and T’Challa notes how Erik’s breathing hitches when his fingers stroke past the head and back down, before he flicks open the cap and puts a dab of clear gel over his palm.

He tugs down, spreading lube over Erik’s cock, easing the glide of his movements, and he gets a shuddering groan for his efforts. “Oh fuck yeah. Just like that.”

T’Challa has only the memories of former intimacies to go on, but he knows what he likes, so he tries that, and adjusts when Erik doesn’t react to something. For instance, he learns that the other man enjoys a thumbnail teasing along the base and then just the pad of his fingertip flicking against the underside, as well as a firm press on the slit, and encircled fingers over the head.

T’Challa works Erik’s cock over for a few minutes until he can see the way the man’s melting into the sheets, and his back arches just before he comes, long white ropes that land over his stomach, across T’Challa’s fingers, and his breathing finally slows. He can’t help his curiosity, so he licks his fingers clean, careful to avoid the smears of lube, and Erik catches him when his eyes open slowly.

“Goddamn. You’re wilder than I expected. Gonna clean it all?” T’Challa smiles, resisting the urge to point out exactly who he is, and why he's somehow catlike, and then leans over Erik’s chest, kissing his mouth once, before backing away. “I’d like to kiss every scar you have, but that would take a long time, so for now, consider this a start.”

While both his hands frame the man’s hips, T’Challa’s tongue makes mindless patterns among the scars covering from Erik’s left pectoral down to his navel, and he gets every drop of the man’s semen licked up as he goes. He finishes with a kiss over the pink line that delineates what almost killed the man, and pulls back just to look, once more.

He stops entirely when he can feel Erik shivering under him, and his own arousal distracts him, just long enough for him to reach down with his hand still slicked in lube, tugging once over himself.

“You’re still gonna fuck me right?” Erik hisses, and T’Challa groans, turning to press his mouth into the side of the man’s thigh. “You have to ask nicely.”

“Please! God, you’re being such a royal pain in the ass.”

T’Challa smirks, mostly to himself. “Not yet.” He retrieves a turquoise foil packet from the drawer before sliding it shut, setting that aside, and then he adds further lube to his fingers, petting it down from Erik’s soft cock, past the soft swell of his testicles to the line of his taint. He can ease one fingertip inside the man’s ass without much effort, and T’Challa keeps his eyes locked on Erik’s face the entire time, not willing to hurt him, even by accident. “It’s okay, I can handle two. This isn’t my first time, _my king_.”

“Yeah? Well it’s mine, so I want to do it right. Don’t rush me.” T’Challa answers, even as he does exactly what’s asked of him, and slips a second fingertip inside the tight but slowly yielding ring of muscle.

When Erik starts writhing around, grinding closer and muttering something that sounds vaguely insulting, if a little desperate, T’Challa declares him ready, and carefully pulls his fingers out, wiping them mindlessly on his stomach. He tears open the condom packet and rolls it on, before adding more lube to his cock, slicking it all over. T’Challa glances up to meet Erik’s intense gaze, and feels the man’s legs firmly pressing into his sides. “C’mere.”

T’Challa goes, leaning down over Erik’s body to brace his elbows on the bed, hands grasping at the man’s shoulders as he feels one of Erik’s hands reaching down to guide him in. His cock slides in smoothly, and Erik’s hissing out a breath from the feel of it, mouth flush to his own, lips moving against him, as they more share a breath than kiss, T’Challa’s eyes flutter closed, and he fights the urge to grit his teeth.

It’s more than overwhelming, the hot wet clench of muscle around his cock, fairly swallowing him in, and he thrusts carefully forward, till he can’t go any further, and his hips meet with Erik’s ass, his ankles locking behind his thighs.

“That’s it, there you go. Fight the urge to come _right_ now, and fuck me.”

Erik’s mumbling, and T’Challa understands what he means. The way it is right now, he suspects Erik could just make him come by flexing right, and keeping him right there, surrounded by pressure and warmth, it would be good. But it’s better to move. He starts to pull out, and Erik lets him, relaxing his legs and putting one hand at the back of his neck, grasping hard on his nape, short nails digging into his skin, as his other arm reaches for T’Challa’s back, fingers splaying over his spine. “Fuck me, fuck me, do it.” Erik repeats, over and over, as he finally starts to build up a rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth, snapping faster until his entire body seems to vibrate with pleasure, and the sparks lighting up his vision begin centering in his gut.

T’Challa’s jaw goes slack, and he moves away from trying to kiss Erik as he fucks him to breathe into the curve of his neck, panting into his skin. As he finally comes, while thrusting deep, he can feel his orgasm crashing through him, his cock pulses and empties itself into the condom. T’Challa can’t prevent himself from collapsing over Erik, but he knows it won’t hurt the man. He’s shaking a little as the aftershocks ripple down his back.

Erik’s groaning under him, and he feels the man shivering a bit, reached between their chests, down to grab at his own cock. “Fuck, oh fuck, oh yeah, god…”

T’Challa feels further wetness spill against his stomach as Erik comes again, and he starts to pull out, and ignores the ache in his knees to get up, lurch to his feet and go get rid of the condom. He doesn’t have to go far, and he returns to the bed to find Erik sprawled out still, naked and unashamed over T’Challa’s bed.

“Gonna kick me out, or do you like to cuddle a bit after?” He asks with a smirk, but T’Challa can hear the tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

This is entirely insane, what they’ve just done, but no, he doesn’t want Erik leaving, not yet.

“You can stay the night, of course. But only if you hold me.”

Erik gives him a curious look, eyes shining in the near darkness, and then he nods, shifting over, getting under the blankets, as T’Challa follows, silently. Those strong arms wrap around his chest, and he feels the texture of Erik’s skin against his back, then finally, a cautious press of lips to his neck, his shoulder. “It wasn’t terrible, was it, working out our rage like this?”

T’Challa smiles into the darkness.

“If this was rage, I’d hate to see how you act when you care about someone.”

Erik huffs a breath against his neck. “Stick around, you might just get to.”

T’Challa inhales deeply, and presses a leg back, feeling his way between Erik’s ankles. One leg bends to slot in his own, and then they’re properly entwined. Like this, he falls asleep. It’s secure.

****

  
  
  
~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaddup here i am with the throne sex.  
> and yes i know it's been done but apparently i'm one of the few on team #erik rides t'challa into the sunset#
> 
> also this part is purely Erik's POV whereas the first bit was mostly T'Challa

He comes back from the training room, which is basically an insanely big custom gym that T’Challa’s been hoarding over the last two weeks, passes by the council chambers, makes a face, then notices the king himself sitting in there, all alone. He blinks. His hands are sweaty from being unwrapped, free of tape, he flexes them into fists and then steps inside the room, the silence heavy. “What’s going on?”

T’Challa looks over at him, a sad sort of smile playing over his face. Erik doesn’t have to lick his lips to remember just how it tastes to kiss the king. He can go take one if he likes. 

He decides to play it cautious instead. T’Challa looks like he’s been pulled out of meditation. 

Erik didn’t know he did that. 

Overrated nonsense in his opinion. “Just thinking.” 

Erik swallows the smartass response and instead opts for a hum.

“Okay. What about?” He saunters a touch closer, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats, not meaning to be obvious, but apparently, T’Challa’s just that easily distracted. 

“How much I like you walking around like that.” Erik’s lips turn up into a smirk almost automatically.    
“Is that right?” He knows the king is lying, but it means he has permission to take a seat. So he does. 

Erik straddles those muscled thighs covered by soft silk and brilliant colors, woven together to make T’Challa’s casual robes, and he sets his hands firmly on the king’s shoulders. 

He’s itching to try wrapping a hand around the man’s neck while they fuck, but he’s not certain how to bring that up. “Did you wanna do it right here? Give the old folks a heart attack?” 

Erik whispers, leaning down, in real close, so his lips graze along T’Challa’s earlobe, and he feels the king shiver, as hands with fingers like steel curl over his thighs, dragging up, until he can touch Erik’s bared skin. “Yeah. But there are other real factors.”

“So lock the door.” Erik gives the obvious answer to the paper thin excuse T’Challa dreams up, and of course, he rolls his eyes, and then nods. “I need… things too.” 

Erik grins, “Well if you weren’t planning on taking me dry then yeah, you fucking do.” 

What happens is, he rolls out of T’Challa’s lap, and gets to sit on the throne all by himself for the five minutes it takes the king to run and grab some lube and a condom. Erik would be in stitches, were it not entirely delicious to just be there, relishing the warmth from T’Challa’s presence, and petting his hands over the armrests. 

The king returns to the room with soft footsteps, almost silent, and the door slides shut, lock thunking into place firmly, as Erik lifts his gaze from the wayward threads on the waistband of his sweats. 

“Look at you, dressing like you expect me to eat you whole.” T’Challa shed his underthings, Erik can tell, even from the distance, just going off how his cock tents the robes, and the king notices him figuring this out, giving a brief but still shy smile. “Maybe I want you to.” 

“See this is good! Don’t be afraid to ask for shit you want. Hell, I’ve considered a few things.” 

T’Challa quirks a brow in surprise. “What do you mean?” 

Erik pats his lap, and the king clicks his tongue before shaking his head. He stands up and moves aside for the scant moment it takes T’Challa to sit down, spread his legs, open his robe, and present Erik a  _ proper _ throne. “I wanted to -”

“I know. But today, I’ll settle for your mouth after.” Erik huffs, and then gives the king a hard long kiss, enough to shut him up and make him reconsider. He doesn’t. In fact, he’s already got slippery fingers when he tugs Erik’s waistband down, and rubs along his cleft. It makes him frustrated, and it’s enough to give him the bravery to reach for T’Challa’s neck, hand rough and firm on the nape of it, his thumb swiping the close cropped hairs there. “What are you doing?” 

Erik grins, almost triumphant. “If I’m gonna ride you, I need to be able to hold on somewhere don’t I?”

T’Challa blinks, “My throat though? You’re going to leave bruises that are hard to explain.”   
Erik inhales sharply, both from the words, and T’Challa’s careful probing. 

“Well, fuck. When exactly are we planning to go public,  _ your highness? _ Gonna wait till Shuri catches us? Till your ex asks why you don’t look like such a sourpuss because she doesn’t think you’ve been able to get your dick wet since she left you?”

Erik’s not exactly asking for a fight, but he sure would love it if T’Challa lost some of that softness and took some initiative.  _ Finally, _ he feels teeth on his own neck, and then two fingers spearing him open with a hint of fierceness, the urge to claim. T’Challa’s fingers curl deep inside Erik’s hole, making his cock jump, still trapped in his sweats. “Christsakes, I knew you had it in you, cuz.” 

T’Challa snaps at him, and Erik just smiles. 

“You talk too much.” He knows. T’Challa keeps fingering him long past what he wants, putting him on the verge of coming, before pulling out, and splaying his clean hand over Erik’s back, urging him to kneel up. He stands over the king, looking right at T’Challa, taking him in all his glory, and lets his sweats pool around his ankles before kicking them away. 

If he wanted to, he could use the hand on the back of T’Challa’s neck to shove him into his cock. He doesn’t, but it’s tempting. Erik’s saved the hard choice by the king himself leaning in, and best imitating the big cat he runs around as. His knees wobble, and maybe that’s what T’Challa wants. 

Erik has to look away, because if he sees the king mouthing over his dick, and licking up the side, he’s going to finish before they really get started. And he wants to ride the fucking throne, god damn it. 

“Don’t act so high and mighty now. I know you’re ready. Take a seat.” 

T’Challa’s words caress every inch of his skin, and Erik obeys not because he likes following the king’s orders, but because he’s  _ starving _ for it. There’s an ache inside him that now, only T’Challa can satisfy. Erik lowers himself slowly, and can feel how the king lines up, and helps him do exactly that. 

Inch by inch, T’Challa’s cock drives into him, carving out that space that only he can have, can take, and Erik’s nostrils flare before that first frisson of pleasure distracts him from the stretch. 

His cock jumps against T’Challa’s stomach, and the hand that was gripping the base of his own starts to slide backwards, tickling under Erik’s thigh, and then wrapping itself around  _ his _ dick.

“You’re free to move. Hold on however you like.” T’Challa says, voice incredibly rough, strained, despite the composure his face displays. Erik clenches around him, just because he can, before kneeling up and starting to drop down again. 

He puts one hand on the king’s throat, and the other on the back of his skull, urging him in for a kiss. 

It’s sloppy and wet, barely a glide of lips on lips, but Erik is  _ drowning _ in how much T’Challa clearly trusts him. It speaks louder than any iteration of  _ ‘I love you’ _ ever will, though he might not object to hearing that either. He moves faster, grinding down, rocking up, feeling T’Challa’s hands stuttering, the one on Erik’s cock and the other grasping for his sweaty hip. 

The king’s heels dig into the ground, and with that added leverage, he’s fucking back, meeting Erik thrust for thrust, a low groan escaping him, slipping past Erik’s fingers that trace over his lips now. 

“Gonna come, fuck-”

Erik’s eyes squeeze shut, and he almost tastes the spice in the air that’s from T’Challa’s soap, his aura that’s everything but the opposite of his own former pure rage. 

Compassion, and serenity. Erik wants to know just how the king manages to maintain this, despite holding so much responsibility on his broad shoulders, but that’s a question for another time. For the moment, he can only come, and pray that those words don’t slip out with the king’s name. “Fuck-”

T’Challa matches the spill of wet warmth on his chest from Erik’s cock with a rare curse, and he knows instantly it’s because the king’s lost to his orgasm too. He smiles, turning to nip a kiss on the king’s shoulder, and drops his hand from T’Challa’s throat to press it over his heart, feeling the hummingbird rapid beat. The movement of their bodies slow, and then stutter to a halt, leaving Erik slumped in T’Challa’s lap, both of them atop the throne. 

The king’s strong arms both wind around his waist, and squeeze gently. He’s urging Erik up, and off his now soft cock, so he goes. It’s not until there’s a dribble of something that’s impossibly like semen oozing down his thighs he realizes what happened. T’Challa got too caught up. He forgot to use the condom. “Oops. Guess you’ll have to  _ eat _ me up instead.” Erik teases, and T’Challa groans again. 

“You come in here, looking like this, and expect me to think rationally.” 

“If you’re not careful, I’ll get jizz on your fancy robes, your highness.” 

Erik gets a shove to the chest, and he falls backwards, rolling smoothly on his heels, grinning over at T’Challa, who’s already shaking his head, one hand pressing to his forehead, as if trying to ward off a headache that Erik may or may not be the cause of. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.” 

Erik laughs, “You’re joking right? How’s that even possible? You make the rules.”

T’Challa looks up at him, peeking through his fingers. 

“You know, perhaps there should be one against this sort of thing. It’s too much fun.” 

Erik tugs on his sweats slowly, grateful for the dark shade of blue. 

“What, you, having fun? Sure sounds illegal.” T’Challa’s on his feet, tucking his robe around himself, putting away the unused condom and the small container of lube. 

“Yeah, well, clearly you don’t know me very well.” Erik gets a kiss on his surprised face, and then he sees the king tracing a finger over the obvious mark left on the back of his neck. He flexes his hands. 

Erik did good, and apparently T’Challa likes it. He smiles, faintly. “So, next round after dinner?” 

The king’s laugh echoes around the chamber, and Erik catches the hint of a nod before he’s unlocking the door, and the real world starts up again.

~~~

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> not a comic book expert just an mcu fan with love for my bisexual heroes


End file.
